


Denial

by starbird1



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-08
Updated: 2014-10-08
Packaged: 2018-02-20 08:40:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2422325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starbird1/pseuds/starbird1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A fill for a prompt in the SanSan Russian Roulette game on the sansaxsandor LJ comm - "The first time Sandor jerked off while thinking of Sansa." One shot. Complete.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Denial

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Maroucia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maroucia/gifts).



> Prompt: The first time Sandor jerked off while thinking of Sansa.

“Stupid, chirping little bird,” the Hound muttered as he crashed through the door to his room. Those were his words but his mind swam with the memory of her pretty face. He dumped his sword belt on the floor, stripped off his tunic and breeches, and fell into bed as though he were more drunk than he was. His encounter with Sansa Stark had burned off the effects of the wine he’d enjoyed earlier.

 

“She doesn’t know a buggering thing about knights.” He could have been a knight if he’d wanted. He scratched his lower belly and let his hand rest on his thigh. He thought he should be too tired to move it.

 

 _That uptight, noble father of hers shouldn’t encourage such nonsense in her._ Her empty courtesies played in his ears. _‘You rode gallantly today, Ser Sandor.’_

 

His hand slid under his smallclothes. He yawned. _Been a long day. Tourney, feast, too much to drink. Time to rest._ He wrapped his hand around his manhood and gave it a satisfying pull. He tried to conjure up the face of the last whore he’d been with but his mind kept summoning the Stark girl’s delicate profile. He’d seen it enough tonight, since she’d spent the whole feast marveling at Joffrey. He gritted his teeth and tried to recall the fleshy hindquarters of the whore. Or had it been the skinny one last time? He couldn’t concentrate. The girl’s obvious disappointment when Joffrey dumped her off into his sworn shield’s care rankled him more than it should have.

 

 _What was the whore’s name?_ He could only remember her price. His hand rose and fell within his smallclothes as he tried to push away images of a prettier girl by calculating if he’d gotten his money’s worth. As though it mattered now.

 

His thoughts and memories scrambled as he picked up his pace and fell into the rhythm he preferred. Why had he told her anything? Why her? Because she’d cried? Even in the torchlight, her eyes had been so blue. His shoulder seemed to tingle where her small hand had rested on it. His memory flitted farther back. He’d touched her shoulders, too . . . that day . . . on the kingsroad . . .

 

The loudness of his grunt surprised him as his body curled itself in climax. The instant he spent himself, he was filled with loathing at his weakness. He jumped to his feet, yanked off his smallclothes, used them to wipe down, and threw the sodden wad to the floor in disgust. _Drunk as a dog_ , he told himself as he fell back into bed.

 

His head wasn’t throbbing in the morning, though he scowled like it was out of habit. The sight of his smallclothes on the floor felt like a reproach. He stepped over them when his squire knocked, wrapping a sheet around his waist. He snatched up the ewer of water the boy brought and told him to be ready at an obnoxiously early hour. The rest of the Hand’s tourney awaited. Another chance for the girl to admire the pretty knights. Something in his loins stirred and he plunged his hands into the water and sent a great wave of it up into his face, splashing it all over and not caring that it ran down his chest. He pointedly did not think of her as he dressed, broke his fast, or walked into the cool morning air. He also did not think of her as his armor was strapped on and the pavilions filled up around him. His mind was so free of troubling thoughts that Sandor Clegane was the very first to appear for the day’s competition.

 

 


End file.
